


She's in Love with the Boy

by Villinye (AslansCompass)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AslansCompass/pseuds/Villinye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like many little girls, Jemma Simmons liked to dress up and play pretend: princess, dinosaur, scientist, chef…but there was one role her mother wasn’t ready to see her take on just yet. Whenever Jemma asked “Mum, can we play weddings?,” Hannah would give a different answer. “No, you’re too silly today,” or “No, you’re too messy today,” because she didn’t want to look into the future. Still, someday…</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's in Love with the Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aretsuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aretsuna/gifts), [eclecticmuses](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eclecticmuses).



> Written for the Fitzsimmons Partnered Exchange. Prompt was :: Fitz and Simmons meet and embark on a secret (eventually romantic) relationship, because their parents don't approve; happy ending please!
> 
> I know it's not quite what you requested, but I ended up taking a fluffier, through-the-years approach to it.

Charlotte Simmons never really thought about her daughter getting married. Sure, someday, perhaps, but no more than she thought about Jemma becoming a candy shop owner, a mad scientist, a dinosaur, or any other of the half-dozen futures a four-year-old imagines during the week.  That didn’t mean she could avoid the topic forever, but she wasn’t expecting to confront it when picking Jemma up from the crèche one Friday.

“Not going.”  The preschooler muttered.

“Jemma, we don’t have time for this. Take off the dress, put it back in the chest, and come out to the car.”

“But Mummy, it’s my webbing dress.”  The billowy white sleeves dragged on the floor, with the skirt twice as wide as she was.  “I mawwied now.”

“What’s that, honey?”

“Mawwied.” She hummed a few notes. “Duh-Duh DU DU.   Spo-sa go with him now.”  

“Ge-ma, come on,” a little boy in an oversized black jacket complained. “Gonna go on honey trip.”

Charlotte stared at the two children.   Webbing… _wedding…_ mawwied…ma _rried_.  “Jemma Simmons, get that dress off. We are going home right now.”

“But---“

“You are not getting married. You are far too young! And I have supper on the Agia at home and I don’t want it to burn.”

* * *

 

Honestly? Really, what was wrong with tradition?  Okay, it was overdramatic and ridiculous and quite possibly confusing, but panto was supposed to be weird. Moreover, it was supposed to be something you took the kids _to_ , not something they _did_.

“Come on, Mum, you and Dad have to come, everybody else’s parents are coming,” Jemma had said when she brought home the program. “And I’m going to be Cinderella. I get to dance and everything.”

Well, after sitting through Goldilocks (with a ginger actress, of all things) and a Puss-in-Boots who forgot half his lines, it was finally Jemma’s turn. 

“If her foot fits this slipper, she is mine,” the prince announced, holding up a fabric slipper set with rhinestones and glitter.

The evil stepmother (played by the head) , directed the  stepsisters to try on the slipper, but they kept falling over and putting it on wrong or backwards.

“May I try?” Jemma asked. She carefully sat down on the bench , lifting her skirt slightly to reveal a bare foot.

The boy nodded. He took the slipper and slid it onto her foot. The jewels twinkled in the stage lights.

It fell off her foot.

Charlotte could see the boy’s face turn white.  He tried again, but the shoe fell off. “What do I do?” he whispered, forgetting that the microphones were still on.

“Give it to me,” Jemma shoved the shoe onto her foot and stomped it down. “It’s mine,” she added loudly.  “I’m supposed to grow into them.”

Charlotte laughed. That’s her girl, alright.

 On the way home, she asked Jemma about the boy.

“Leo Fitz. You remember, Mum, we met at the crèche.  He’s really smart. I like him.”

“Well, you can like him, but remember, it was just a play. You can’t have a wedding yet.”

“I _know,_ I’m too young.”

“Besides, don’t you like being Jemma Simmons?"

"I liked being Cinderella. Except next time, I need better shoes."

* * *

 

“How’s the homework coming?”

“Mum,” Jemma all but rolled her eyes.  “I’m not in primary school anymore. I don’t think you can help me with university-level biochem.”

“Cheeky. I’m still your mum, remember? Or shall I eat all these biscuits I was making for your study group tomorrow?” Charlotte frowned. “Can you really call it a group with just two people?”

“Everyone else is old—older,” Jemma quickly amended, before she could be called out on it. “I don’t think they really want to hang out with teenagers.  So it’ll probably just be Fitz. Maybe Maria—she gets intimidated in class and doesn’t really feel comfortable asking questions in front of a group.”

“I’m glad to see you reaching out to other people in your class. Leo is a nice boy, but it’s important to have other friends too.  It’s a bit harder with advanced classes, but just because you’re taking classes with people several years older than you doesn’t mean you have to imitate everything they do. There’ll be plenty of time for dating later.”

“Dating—“ Jemma coughed. “You think Fitz and I are—Mum, we’ve know each other forever, that’s all.”

“You make sure to let me know if that changes.”

* * *

 

“Come on, Simmons, we’re going to be late.” Fitz scratched the back of his neck.

“Just a moment, I have to adjust my overalls.  There,” she ran a finger over the star-shaped fabric patches. “Perfect. You really should have gone with the scarf. Then we would have matched.”

“I didn’t want people tripping over it. That took months of work.  Besides, I haven’t worn my kilt in ages.”

“I can’t believe you even have a kilt.” Jemma came out of her room and shut the door.  “Aren’t those just for tourists?”

“Don’t get high and mighty with me, I’ve seen the beefeater hat in your closest.”

“I was five.  Dad thought it looked cute.” They continued teasing each other as they headed down to the broiler room.   One of the upperclassmen was loitering near the door, trying to act inconspicuous.

“Who does he think he is, ops?” Fitz muttered.

 “If a lightsaber falls in a black hole, what happens?” the other student asked them.

“Beam me up, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,” Jemma replied with the countersign.

He opened the door.   “Just out of curiosity, who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Sarah Jane Smith and he’s Jamie, both from Doctor Who.”

“Nice  skirt.”

“It’s not a skirt,” Fitz called behind them as they descended the stairs.  Just as they turned the corner to the overlook, three or four cameras flashed in their faces.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, just taking your picture for your dorms.” One of the photographers said. “We like to have pictures of people outside their doors, just to put a face with the name.”

“We were told it was a costume party!”

“Is that what they went with this year?  When I was a freshmen, they said it was a sports night.”

“A joke?” Fitz asked. “All this was a joke?”

“Well, yeah, that’s the point. Smile!”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it.  For the next three months,  pictures of the costume party kept showing up taped to doors, marking pages in textbooks, folded in napkins,  or tucked in with lab projects.  They were labeled too, by last name: Fitz and Simmons at first, then Fitz-Simmons, and finally Fitzsimmons

Looking back, years later, Jemma was very glad that Facebook wasn’t around when she was at the Academy.  She could just imagine her mum seeing hundreds of tagged pictures and demanding “just when did you get married, Miss Jemma Simmons. Or is it only Fitzsimmons now?”

* * *

 

 

““And now, the parents of the bride, Charlotte and Lawrence Simmons,” Coulson handed them the microphone.

“Thank you, Phil. I must say, it’s been—interesting…hearing all these stories about what exactly our daughter’s been up to at work,” Lawrence glanced in Jemma’s direction. “I’d say you’re grounded, but I don’t know how that would work, what with a mobile headquarters and all.”

“I’m sure we could arrange something,” someone called.

“Honestly, we couldn’t be prouder.  I may not understand half the things she does, but I’m glad to know she found someone who does. Leo, welcome to the family.”

“Before we propose a toast, I have something to say,” Charlotte added.  “When Jemma was growing up, I never really wanted her to play weddings.  Maybe it’s a bit silly, but I just kept saying,  ‘Not yet, don’t you like being Jemma Simmons?’  I lost count of how many times I said that—“

“At least a hundred,” Jemma interjected.

“But somewhere along the line, I realized that being Jemma Simmons wasn’t the same as staying my little girl. She was supposed to grow up, to keep learning and growing.  Part of that included finding new friends, learning to work with others, and exploring new opportunities.  I always wanted her to find her fit, the place where she belonged. And if the number of stories about ‘Fitzsimmons’ tonight are any indication, “  Charlotte swallowed back tears,  “Jemma’s found exactly where she’s supposed to be and who to share it with.”

 

 

 

 

 

  


End file.
